Don't Drink The Tea
by wanderingmindstravelfar
Summary: Thomas Sharpe is plagued by a crisis of conscience as he realizes his relationship with Edith is more than just a con. But how far is he willing to go to put his mind and heart at ease? Will he find the strength to overcome his past at Crimson Peak, or will his loyalty to his sister withstand his newfound love? (Rated M for some heated romance and character death)
1. Chapter 1

_"Thomas," Edith says in a calm, even tone. "Please- please don't do this." She steps backward ever-so-slowly, her eyes pleading with him, earnest and hopeful as she blindly finds her footing. The blade in his hand catches the light momentarily and its piercing reflection causes her heart to pound. "It doesn't have to be this way," she cries, offering hope rather than desperation._

 _His eyes soften but his expression reveals a twisted kind of agony. "I'm sorry," Thomas utters simply. "I'm so sorry, Edith." And with a single, menacing motion, he raises his arm and plunges the knife in..._

* * *

 ** _TEN DAYS EARLIER..._**

The chapel is small but charming, and nearly everything seems aglow in the afternoon light. Outside the window a swarm of butterflies hover over a patch of colorful flowers, bringing a smile to Edith's face.

 _I can't believe this is happening_ , she thinks to herself. _I'm about to be married- in a small town in the English countryside- to a man I only just met a couple of weeks ago._ With a deep, calming breath, she turns toward the mirror.

"Lady Thomas Sharpe," Edith says aloud, trying the title on for size. She stifles a girlish giggle. _This is madness!_

Her heart flutters in anticipation, and just as she places the last pin in her hair, there is a soft but urgent knock at the door. "Yes?" she replies welcomingly, quickly shaken from her thoughts.

"Edith, it's Thomas." He pauses briefly. "May I come in?"

She opens her mouth to respond, but hesitates. _Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?_ Oh well. To hell with ritual superstitions. There was nothing traditional about their relationship anyway. Without a word, she scurries over to let him in.

Thomas shuffles inside and swiftly but quietly shuts the door behind him without so much as looking at his bride. "Edith," he begins hastily, but his breath catches at the sight of her.

"Thomas what is it?" she asks with concern.

"...my darling you look radiant," he inserts with sincerity and awe. A shy smile overtakes his face as Thomas steps forward and caresses her shoulder gently, his fingertips trailing down her arm and leaving echoes of his touch along the way. But his expression quickly shifts. "There is something I need to say." His eyes shift sideways, as if afraid someone might overhear.

Why the sudden formality? Thomas is always poised, to be sure, but this- _this_ was dry and businesslike.

"Edith, I love you," he begins plainly, "and no force on this Earth could ever change that. But there are things- things you don't know about me- things I fear, if ever came to light, would drive you away from me."

"Thomas, where is this coming from? Don't be ridiculous," she insists uneasily. Surely these are just pre-wedding jitters.

"Edith listen to me," he orders, grabbing her shoulders sternly. "I am not, entirely, the person you think I am..."

"Are you not Sir Thomas Sharpe, the charming, enigmatic baronet and inventor who told me my writing was 'rather good'?"

"Well... yes," he admits uncomfortably. "But Edith, there is a darkness- a shadow- that follows me in everything that I do, and if we are to be wed, then I-"

"Stop. Please stop! Thomas, whatever this is- it's in the past, and I suggest you leave it there. I don't want to know."

He opens his mouth to object, but Edith shakes her head insistently. "Thomas, a couple of weeks ago, I wasn't sure that love existed, and I was even less sure that I wanted any part of it. But then you showed up, and… I don't know how, but _everything changed_. You speak of darkness, but my world is suddenly so much brighter."

Thomas' thin lips curve upward at the corners, but his sad eyes seem unconvinced.

"We may not know every intimate detail of one another's lives, but you make me inexplicably happy, Thomas. You intrigue me and inspire me and embolden me and... I _love_ you." It was the first time she'd spoken those words aloud.

Leaning forward, Thomas places a light but lingering kiss upon her forehead, stroking her hair. "You will never know how much it means to hear you say that," he whispers. And for a few long moments, the two of them just stand there, breathing each other in as the rest of the world falls away. Thomas brushes her cheek with the back of his hand, tracing her jaw, her neck, her collarbone... Edith shivers at his gentle touch.

"I need you to do something for me, Edith." His voice is low and serious. Thomas takes her hands in his, squeezing them protectively as his pale eyes bore into her very soul. "I need you to trust me."

Lost in his gaze, she nods. "I do."


	2. Chapter 2

"Welcome to Allerdale Hall," Thomas announces as he carries his new wife through the door and deposits her gently on the ground inside. Edith shudders at the chilled air that envelops her in the place of his warm, comforting arms.

"Oh Thomas," she begins, utterly overwhelmed by the sight before her. "It's so…"

"-difficult to describe," he interrupts before she can pass judgement. "I know."

Edith looks up in wonder and she can feel the weight of Thomas' intent, curious gaze upon her as she continues to study the house. Tiny flecks of snow fall down through the ceiling, which should be cause for concern, but instead seem to enliven the otherwise solemn interior.

"Well," she finally declares, "what it lacks in a roof, it more than makes up for in character."

Thomas stifles a laugh and gives her a quick peck on the cheek. "That's my girl," he says contentedly. "But truly, it is a disgrace. We try to maintain the house as best we can, but with the cold and the rain it's impossible to stop the damp and erosion. I'd offer to take your shawl but it can get awfully brisk in here."

"I'm fine," Edith assures him, not wanting to be a burden, despite her frozen fingers.

"You'll come to terms with the cold in time," Lucille interjects abruptly with what seems to be a hint of irritation in her voice. "I know I have," she continues as Thomas helps remove her overcoat.

For a couple of minutes Edith had all but forgotten she was there, and it was quite refreshing to be honest. Lucille had a way of making her feel as if everything she did was inadequate.

Unsure how to respond, Edith is relieved when the servant, Finlay, interrupts.

"Upstairs, young master Sharpe?" he asks, in reference to the luggage.

"Yes, please," Thomas affirms. "Let me show you where."

He turns to Edith excitedly before rushing up the stairs. "I can't wait to give you a tour. I'll be just a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable my dear."

She nods absentmindedly, admiring everything from the art on the walls to the craftsmanship of the grand stair and banister. It's difficult to believe this would be her home.

Relishing in the bittersweet welcome of her new surroundings, Edith finds a nearby mirror where she removes her hat and fixes her hair.

 _Eeeeeeeeoooowhoosh._

The eerie sound catches her off guard. "Lucille?" she wonders aloud. Where had that mysterious woman disappeared to?

Edith wanders down the hallway quietly, catching nothing but faint echoes of Thomas' voice every now and then. Must've been nothing more than her senses playing tricks on her. But just as she starts to relax, a distinctly mechanical noise draws her attention. She looks up anxiously. _There's someone in the elevator._

"Edith, what are you doing?" Thomas approaches from behind.

"I saw a woman in the elevator…" she muses, more to herself than to him.

"A _woman_? You mean Lucille?"

"No it wasn't Lucille," she insists. Though Edith doesn't have an alternative explanation.

"Must've been a shadow," Thomas concludes. "That contraption has a mind of its own. Whatever you do, never- ever- go below this level."

She nods agreeably and Thomas gives her a comforting hug just as Lucille appears in the doorway.

"Is something the matter with you Edith?"

"Something startled me, that's all," she explains, feeling perfectly juvenile in her sister-in-law's presence.

"A shadow," Thomas explains.

"All that lives in the house are shadows and creaks and groans. You'd better soothe that boundless imagination of yours."

"A writer's imagination," Thomas notes admiringly. Edith gives him a shy smile.

"All that aside- from now on I want this house to contain nothing but friendship and love and warmth," she declares, wrapping her arms tenderly around Lucille.

The woman stiffens visibly at her touch.

"Warmth would be an excellent start. Thomas your bride is frozen," Lucille proclaims, dutifully ignoring Edith's kind gesture.

"Of course, forgive me. Let us go upstairs and start a fire at once." Thomas places a hand on the small of her back and leads the way up to the bedroom.

"You'll have to forgive my sister," he explains in a low voice as he closes the door behind them. "It's been just the two of us for years now. She can be a bit... _insensitive_ to change."

"That's alright, we're all adjusting," Edith remarks sympathetically.

"Tell you what- I'll run you a hot bath and you'll feel better in no time," Thomas proposes.

"That really isn't necessary."

"I know, but I want you to be comfortable."

"I am," she replies, winding her arms around his neck.

* * *

Thomas retreats to his study while Edith bathes, enjoying a drink in solitude. The house is quiet aside from the ticking clock on his desk which marks the passage of time.

"You've been unusually quiet," Lucille accuses stoically from the doorway.

"Have I?" Thomas replies, his thoughts distant despite her interruption.

She begins removing her gloves, carefully tugging at each finger as she observes her brother.

"Where were you before the ceremony? I tried to find you but the minister said you had excused yourself."

Thomas looks his sister dead in the eyes, his expression blank despite his irritation. "I stepped out for some fresh air," he states flatly.

An uncomfortable silence fills the air between them.

"You're acting as though you've never done this before," Lucille criticizes, unable to mask her concern.

"That's the idea, isn't it?" Thomas retorts sharply. He swallows the last of his drink before placing the glass down forcefully. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to see to my wife."

Lucille's suspicious eyes follow her brother as he leaves the room. Something is definitely amiss.


	3. Chapter 3

The warm bath water feels positively heavenly against Edith's chilled body. She washes herself leisurely, soaking in between. With her head back and her eyes closed, Edith is able to truly relax for the first time in days. She and Thomas were married now and Edith smiles as she imagines the wonderful life they might share together. She with her writing, he with his clay mining… perhaps they would even have a family someday. She blushes at the prospect of being intimate with Thomas, and quickly diverts her thoughts before they bring about a whole new set of anxieties.

Edith holds her breath and submerges herself completely underwater, rinsing any lingering suds out of her hair when an ominous creaking noise vibrates through the surrounding liquid. She pops up uneasily and listens with diligence as the sound of her own splashing subsides.

Nothing.

Edith is suddenly reminded of her earlier encounter with the figure in the elevator. Surely Lucille was right and it was nothing but her overactive imagination adjusting to the new environment.

But then it happens again. A long, low, whining creak. And perhaps it was her eyes playing tricks on her, but Edith could swear she saw a faint shadow outside the door.

"Hello?" she asks timidly. "Is someone there?"

No response.

Unable to relax any longer, Edith steps out of the tub and slips into a thin robe.

"Hello?" she calls again, making her way to the door.

Everything is still. Everything is quiet.

Edith sighs and scolds herself for being so naive.

She rounds the corner into the bedroom and is pleasantly surprised to see her husband perched over the fireplace, reading.

"Thomas," Edith greets, the relief evident in her voice.

"Oh, hello my darling. Feeling better?" he asks, looking up from whatever it was that had been holding his attention.

"Very much so," she smiles.

"Excellent! Well as you can see, I've started a fire, and I was just... well, I was reading the newest portion of your manuscript," he admits sheepishly. "I know I should've asked- but it was sitting out and-"

"Do you like it?" Edith interrupts impatiently, ignoring the invasion of privacy.

"I do," Thomas says for the second time that day. His warm, genuine smile causes her heart flutter irregularly. Stepping forward, the baronet captures her lips in a slow, gentle kiss. "Mrs. Sharpe," Thomas breathes. "You are _so_ beautiful. _So_ talented." His voice sends chills down Edith's spine.

"Come, sit," he insists, taking her hand and leading her to a large cushioned chair adjacent to the hearth. "The fire will warm you." Edith nearly protests, realizing she isn't clothed, but ultimately decides not to draw unnecessary attention to that particular detail.

She sits down and tugs her robe across her chest, enveloped by the warmth of the nearby flames almost immediately.

"Now, if you're comfortable I think I'll go and fetch us something to drink."

Edith nods. "That sounds lovely."

* * *

Thomas makes his way downstairs to the pantry where he keeps a few bottles of wine for special occasions. He selects one thoughtfully with Edith in mind, and heads into the kitchen to fetch some glasses when he hears a set of distinct footsteps approaching from the corridor. _Lucille_.

Thomas curses under his breath and hides the bottle. His sister would not approve.

"Oh there you are," she observes coolly upon entering the room.

"Yes, I was just having a look at the mail," Thomas says as nonchalantly as possible, fidgeting with the envelopes that had accumulated on the table.

Lucille heads for the stove where a kettle begins to whistle shrilly. "Just in time too," she announces. "The tea is ready."

Thomas cringes inwardly. "Very well. Edith is upstairs by the fire." He doesn't look up.

"I'm sure she'd prefer if you delivered it," his sister retorts with stern persuasion.

Thomas furrows his brow. He'd never directly administered the lethal concoction to any of his previous wives. It was a means of distancing himself from the horror of what would inevitably follow.

"Lucille, you know I don't like-"

"-take it to her, Thomas."

He swallows uneasily as she places the tray in his hand, knowing he has something to prove.

* * *

Thomas stirs the tea in silence as the fire crackles. Lucille was undoubtedly lurking just outside the bedroom door, watching and listening to see if her little brother would comply. He knows there is no getting out of it.

"This will make you feel better," Thomas finally says, offering Edith a cup.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Firethorn berries. They're very good for you."

Edith takes a sip and is unable to hide her unpleasant reaction.

"You don't like it," Thomas observes, simulating disappointment.

"It's a little bitter," she admits.

"I'm afraid nothing gentle ever grows in this land." Thomas turns and kneels to stoke the fire, unable to watch as Edith takes another sip. "You need a measure of bitterness," he continues, "not to be eaten."

The wind picks up suddenly, sweeping through the room as if they were outdoors. Edith crouches next to her husband. "What was that?"

"It's the east wind," he explains. "When it picks up, the chimneys form a vacuum, and with the windows all shuttered up, the house... well, the house _breathes_. It's ghastly I know." He pulls her close and nuzzles her forehead sweetly.

Edith's robe had fallen open partly and Thomas lets his hand slip inside and settle gently around her bare waist, holding her protectively. He feels her body tense beneath his touch and knows not to go any further.

"Come my love, try not to fret," he encourages, helping her into the chair. "I'll have a bath, I think. And you my dear, should relax."

He places a chaste kiss on her forehead, but his gaze shifts suspiciously toward the door. It was difficult to tell who he was performing for anymore.


End file.
